Summer Lightning (3 page)

“You be sure and come to me if there’s ever another problem. I had a lot of respect for that aunt of yours.” He transferred his smoldering cigar from his right hand to his left and took her by the elbow. “I’ll show you out.”

To Edith’s burning shame, her stomach growled loudly as they walked into the lobby. Immediately, she began to talk, to cover up any further embarrassing noises. “Your life must be very interesting, Mr. Steadman. I know all my clients look up to the
Bulletin
and feel it’s an important part of their lives. Tell me, how do you . . .”

Despite her efforts, the rumbling that echoed through the lobby had the effect of thunder. She felt as though every head in the place must be turning in her direction.

“Look at the time,” Mr. Steadman said. “Can’t I make it up to you, Miss Parker, by taking you to lunch? There’s a nice little place around the corner.”

The thought of food was enough to make Edith’s head swim. But to enter a public restaurant with a man she hardly knew smacked of that dishonorable life her aunt had always warned her against. One false step, apparently, was all it took.

“You’re very good, Mr. Steadman. But I have an appointment and am already late. Good day.”

The acoustics in the lobby of the
Bulletin’s
office must have been especially good, for even though she was some distance away, she clearly heard the editor murmur, “Poor little lady.” Her cheeks were crimson for half her walk home. Had Mr. Steadman seen through her pretense?

Mr. Maginn’s absence from his usual perch by the stairs seemed to indicate that he was supervising his seldom-seen sister in the cooking of the noon meal. Not having paid her rent, Edith was naturally cut off from dining at the communal table. Though the food was mostly thin soups and watery porridge, the dirty, sticky table seemed like an oasis of fine cuisine, forever beyond her reach.

The stairs were impossibly steep. She rested at the third landing, her gloved hand against the wall. Her knees felt weak, and her head went round and round like a calliope. She could almost hear the cheerful, vulgar organ music. Knowing she mustn’t collapse here, she staggered up the last two flights of stairs.

Though she longed just to lie down for a little while, Edith knew she must not take the risk of falling asleep and missing the four o’clock mail. All her hopes were pinned to that delivery. She owed three dollars for rent, but even a single new client would mean she could eat, and eat well.

The dry soda crackers that she shared with Orpheus—his cage open since Mrs. Webb never missed a meal—were a poor substitute for a luncheon. Eating them with pride made them no more palatable.

She wondered what Mr. Dane would be eating. The St. Simeon Hotel was known for the excellence of its table. Or perhaps he was having a business meeting at one of the fine restaurants by the river. Edith suppressed a groan and tried to think of something unconnected with food. But as all roads lead to Rome, all subjects, sooner or later, led her to meals.

After the three crackers, all she dared take from her store, Edith took up some of the letters she had in her files. Men and women wrote to the service in about equal numbers. As things had turned out, Miss Fiske had been the last unmatched client in the files. Otherwise, Mr. Hansen would have had to wait for some lonely girl to write in before finding his mate.

The letters were all the same. The circumstances might vary widely, from orphans to the overlooked child in a large family, from independent persons to those who were forced to rely on the largess of some relative, from the frantically youthful to the ripeness of maturity—which did not necessarily indicate the age of the writer.

All the letters had at their heart the feeling that the world was meant for couples. Whether the letter stated that the writer was looking for a spouse or a parent for children (already gotten or yet unborn) a lover or a housekeeper, each made clear that the loneliness of the writer was increased by the observation that every being on earth went more happily as one of a pair.

The time until three-thirty passed pleasantly enough. She meant to leave in plenty of time, for she would have to walk very slowly to keep from exhausting herself. It was only when Edith tried to stand that she found the weakness in her legs had not passed off. Sitting on the edge of her bed, she felt so weak that she leaned her head on her hand and closed her sore eyes.

In the dungeon beneath the castle, the only light came from smoking torches in the wall. The captive maiden would have been glad to shout defiance to her guards, were they not, like all the inhabitants, feasting in the great hall above. Now that there was no one to see, she could give way to tears. One by one they dripped from between the fingers that hid her eyes.

When Edith looked up, the small wooden clock on the wall told her it was five minutes past four. Distressed, for the post office closed at five o’clock, Edith knew she’d have to hurry. In her haste, she half-fell down the last several stairs, twisting her ankle. She hopped on her other foot for a moment, biting her lips to keep back a cry.

The crash brought out Mr. Maginn, like a malevolent cuckoo from a shabby clock. Edith realized he was at least partially sober and she bit her lip. While he was drunk, she could deal with him fairly well. Sober was another matter.

“Well, well, Miss Edith, you won’t flee so easy this time.”

“Mr. Maginn, you’ll have to pardon me. I’m late and I . . .”

“Mighty hoity-toity, aren’t you—for someone who’s owing back rent? Come on in here, and let’s have a little talk about that . . . and other things.”

“Really, Mr. Maginn, I can’t right now. If you’ll just let me go, I’ll have your rent when I ... at least, I hope I will.”

But he stood in the doorway, staring at her. He beckoned her over by crooking his fat white forefinger. Edith felt she had but two choices—to go to him or to run away. As each step was a shooting pain, she had in fact no choice at all.

Trying not to limp, she walked into the bright, seemingly clean apartment. Despite the fact that each surface was dusted and every pillow plumped, a smell lingered in the room, as though the exhalings of Mr. Maginn never really faded. The smell caught Edith by the throat. She tried to breathe shallowly.

“What am I to do with you?” he asked, coming closer. His tone was a travesty of the paternal.

“I hope to pay you this afternoon, Mr. Maginn. I am on my way to the post office and I feel confident . . .”

He ran his hand down’ her arm, insinuating himself closer. “You’re a lovely thing, me darlin’. All ripe and delicious, like peaches and cream.”

“You’re too kind,” she said, recoiling. One of his teeth must be rotten. His breath would choke a horse. “As I said . . ,”

“Now, it don’t seem right that you should have to struggle so. I’ve had me eye on you for some little time, sweetness. Things are bad with you. I could be willing to make life that much easier for you.”

His arm was about her waist. Despite her hand firm against his shoulder, his strength was slowly but certainly bringing her closer to his spongy body.

“Say you leave your door unlocked tonight,” he whispered wetly in her ear. “Say you be happy to see me. Then I’d be more than happy to make your dreams come true. It’s not right such a beauty should be sleeping all alone.”

“Please, Mr. Maginn. . . .”

“Oh, yes, my lovely, you’ll say please. And thank you, Ringo, you’ll be saying pretty as you can.”

She was bending away from him as completely as she could, her body stiff and tight. The sound of his tongue churning across his thick lips filled her ears and his moon face was so close to hers she could have counted the pockmarks. Hardly knowing what she did, she clouted him on the side of his head.

With a yowl, he started back. Edith fell, further jarring her bad ankle. As she pushed up painfully from the polished floor, she saw his face go crimson. “I’ll pay you back for that,” he swore, rubbing his ear. “Tonight, I’ll pay you back.”

A timid voice called from the back of the apartment, “Are you all right, Ringo?”

“Mind your own business, Evvie.”

Edith heard the slap of carpet slippers fading along the hall. She brushed off the back of her full skirt and straightened her hat. Looking at her landlord with all the haughtiness she could find, she said, “I have nothing more to say, Mr. Maginn. I shall have your rent this afternoon.”

“It don’t matter now if you pay or don’t,” he panted. “I’ll be outside your door tonight. You better let me in, if you know what’s good for you.”

“What you suggest would not be good for me, not in the least. I will not open my door to you.”

“You’ll do it, my lovely.” He didn’t try to touch her again, for which she was grateful. She already felt as though slime covered her skin.

“I don’t think so.”

“You’ll let me in . . . let me do whatever I want, or you’ll be on the sidewalk come Monday.”

Edith tried to keep her fear from showing in her face, but she knew she failed when she heard Maginn’s hateful chuckle. He threatened her with the one thing she feared above all else. To be on the street, destitute. She could imagine it so clearly.

He smiled like an inferior devil. “Now you know I wouldn’t want to evict you. See reason and I’ll let you stay. That’s fair, isn’t it? You scratch my back . . . who’s to say? If you’re nice to me, I might be tempted to make it legal. You and me ... I could see us living down here, all right and tight. A nice little wifie’s better than an idiot sister any day.”

Maginn didn’t try to stop her when she walked out. She returned to her room, her ankle bothering her less than her conscience. She argued that this was as dire a moment as she’d ever faced. Trapped between two downward paths, surely it would be all right to use the money. She took it out and tucked it away in her bag.

Much ashamed, Edith admitted that if she must prostitute herself, she would rather it be to the handsome Jefferson Dane than to the repulsive Maginn. If only she could be sure that Mr. Dane’s proposal was authentic, she would seize upon it in a moment. She thought of his warm brown eyes and almost believed. Shaking the thought away, she blessed the hundred-dollar bill.

Though her aunt had told her again and again never to use the money, Edith doubted such a situation had ever come up for her. A solid woman, a Christian woman, but not ever one to tempt the male sex, as she herself had admitted.

“You are a different story, Edith,” her aunt had often said. “The gentlemen admire the slender yet elegant figure. And you do have pretty hair. I tell you these things not that you should be vain of them, but so you will be wary. Do not talk to strange men in the street. Don’t tempt them with sly looks or a seductive walk. A lady keeps her eyes on the street and her feet on a narrow path. Men are such . . . susceptible creatures.”

Edith had followed all her aunt’s advice. Yet it seemed she had tempted Mr. Maginn. Though Edith felt sure he had not had very far to fall.

She wondered again about Mr. Dane. Did his pleasing exterior hide a heart of gold, or of clay? Did none of the three ladies of his choice tempt him to fall? What was the matter with them that they didn’t take advantage of the ease with which a man could be fascinated?

At the post office, her heart leapt high when she saw the sharp edge of an envelope through the small square of glass. In her eagerness, she misdialed twice before she got the right combination. Withdrawing the letter, heedless of decorum, she ripped open the letter. No money fell out. She shook the page vigorously, and then the envelope. Nothing.

While waiting in line to break her hundred-dollar bill, Edith read the letter. It came from a client, now happily married in Topeka. For once, the joyful contents had no power to raise Edith’s spirits.

The clerk at the counter was a different man, with scraggly side-whiskers and a frown. He barely glanced at the highly engraved piece of blue paper.

“No good,” he said. “Next!”

“What? No ... no good?”

“The Braxton Bank of Louisiana closed five years ago, lady. That’s nothing but waste paper now. Next!”

The woman behind Edith elbowed her way forward. “Two stamps, please.”

Edith couldn’t move. Her aunt must have known about the bank. How could she leave a worthless inheritance? Edith didn’t want to think all her legacies might be valueless.

The woman turned from the counter, nearly running over Edith. “Really! Eavesdropping on my business!”

The tone, rather than the words, reached Edith. Hardly knowing what she did, she stumbled away from the counter.

Walking home, her ankle aching bitterly inside her high-buttoned shoe, she felt raindrops fall out of a clear sky. One by one, they spotted the bosom of her dress. It was only when people turned to stare after her on the street that she realized she was weeping in public. She clawed down her veil.

Her head spinning from hunger, Edith climbed the worn steps to the peeling front door of the boardinghouse. A sour smell of burnt potatoes reached her and made her mouth water. Even something charred would be better than nothing.

She paused by the Maginns’ door, which was slightly ajar. As she raised her hand to knock, she thought, “I can’t do what he wants, but I could beg. . . . Evvie likes me; she’s talked to me once or twice. She told me about the boy who wanted to marry her. Maybe she’d give me something.”

On the other side of the door Mrs. Webb said loudly, “But you promised me!”

Mr. Maginn laughed coarsely and cruelly. “You didn’t think I meant it? I knew you were stupid but not that stupid.”

Edith shrank back, her fist pressed to her chest. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

“It’s that girl in the room next to mine, isn’t it? Her and that miserable canary. I should have known. First you leave Carrie Nester for me and now me for . . . her.”

“Well, it’s not the canary. I can tell you that. Besides, what makes you think good old Carrie was the first? There’s lots of chances for a fella living in a place like this. Lonely women . . .” There was something so hatefully superior in his tone that Edith was not surprised to hear the sound of a slap.